


Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more

by iriswallpaper



Series: Heartaches By The Number [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Emotional Infidelity, Infidelity, John and Mary's Wedding, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Pining Sherlock, Season/Series 03, everyone is morally bankrupt, scenes in between/concurrent with S3 on-screen events, wedding rehersal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night of the Wedding Rehearsal and Sherlock starts to realize the wedding will actually happen. </p>
<p>Scene-based fics that are concurrent with events in S3. This is not an S3 fix-it fic.</p>
<p>HEED THE TAGS because everyone is morally bankrupt in this fic.</p>
<p>Title from the song "Heartaches by the Number," a popular country song written by Harlan Howard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more

_Heartaches by the number, troubles by the score  
Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more._

.

.

The church was dimly lit in the cloudy Spring evening. Sherlock sat in the second pew, groom’s side, with his head against the back of the pew. His eyes were tightly closed. People chattered around him, loudly and with great emotion. It was hateful - he concentrated on trying not to vomit.

The priest finally arrived. He called the wedding rehearsal to order and gave instructions to the organist, the bridesmaids, the bride and groom and best man. He cracked one eye and looked daggers at the priest as he explained how the best man should hand the rings to the groom after pretending to remove them from the ring bearer’s pillow. Honestly, how stupid can traditions get; as if any sane person would tie several thousand pounds of gold rings onto a pillow and then place it in the custody of a six year old boy.

After listening to the priest’s litany, obviously repeated verbatim for hundreds of bridal parties, Sherlock rose to take his place rehearseing the processional and exiting the sanctuary with the rest of the wedding party. But instead of carrying him to the altar rail, his legs carried him out the side door to the lawn.

He heard the door slam shut behind him then swing open again. “Sherlock! Sherlock!” John hurried across the grass. “What just happened?” John grabbed Sherlock’s elbow from behind.

He stopped and turned to face John. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” Sherlock put on his most posh public school inflections. “I’d best go home and lie down. Can’t be helped.” 

He turned and took two steps before John caught his elbow again and spun him around abruptly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” John ground out the words, staccato, between clenched teeth.

"Oh for gods sake, John. How hard is it? I've been to weddings. I know what to do." Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He really did feel queasy. “I really am not feeling well.”

John leaned closer, tilting his head to examine Sherlock closely. Something he saw in Sherlock’s face made him drop Sherlock’s arm and take a step back. “Alright, then.” All hint of anger was gone from John’s voice. “I’ll make your excuses. Will you join us for the rehearsal dinner?”

“Rehearsal dinner? Not really my area.” Sherlock tried to smile but it came out as a grimace.

John just nodded and turned back toward the church. “I’ll check on you later,” he said over his shoulder as he headed back across the lawn.

~*~ 

Sherlock was deeply asleep when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jerked awake to find John leaning over him, shaking his shoulder.

“Hi,” John said softly. “I was worried about you. Better now?”

Blinking blearily at the clock, Sherlock nodded - just past midnight. Sherlock marveled that he’d actually fallen asleep. He’d gone to bed to sulk with no expectation that he could ever sleep this night.

“Yeah, a little better.” Sherlock croaked. He shifted onto his back. 

“I missed you at the rehearsal dinner.” John sounded sad.

Sherlock sighed. “Wasn’t feeling up to it.”

John quickly stripped to his pants and slid into bed. He propped on his elbow and looked down at Sherlock in the dim light leaking in around the curtains. “I told Mary I’m going to spend the night here. There’s a superstition about the groom seeing the bride before the wedding.”

“Really, John. Superstitions are for idiots.” 

John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, smoothing them back from his forehead. “I know. I really wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Sherlock turned his head and nuzzled into John’s palm. John dropped his face to Sherlock's curls and inhaled deeply while he stroked Sherlock’s stubbled cheek. 

Sherlock dropped his head to John’s shoulder. He pressed his face into John’s warm neck. “I’m trying.” His voice wavered.. “I’m trying, John. To play by the rules. To … it’s hard. I know you want the wedding, the wife, the house in the suburbs. To be sane, reliable Doctor Watson. I know. And I want it for you. I’m trying, I’m … it just ... I ...” Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut with a loud click of teeth. He wasn’t even sure what he’d just babbled, but he knew it wasn’t good.

John’s strong, capable hands stroked his hair, his shoulders, his back. “Hey,” John whispered. “Sherlock. It’s okay. You’re okay.” As if he said it enough times, it would be a fact, and Sherlock would indeed be okay. “Nothing will change between us. We’ll still be us. We’ll still have this.”

A wet sound escaped Sherlock’s throat. There was more he wanted to say; he wanted to beg, really _beg_ John to call off the entire wedding, but he couldn’t seem to force sounds around the jumbled lump of words clogging his throat. He nuzzled John’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent of him. ”How long?” he whispered.

“I’ll have to leave by 10. Mary’s getting her hair done so she’ll be gone from the house by then, so I can get ready.”

That wasn’t what Sherlock had really asked but he let John’s misunderstanding be. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to his real question.


End file.
